Well it's blog time again..... and I got nothin'. I must admit that I had written a great vent yesterday, not that I could post it. The main theme was others needing a proctologist to retrieve your running shoe. It was wrong... funny, but wrong. So it got filed under G. I'm still regretting not saving a copy. Jeff Foxworthy would have been proud.
It was just a general vent, nothing in particular lighting the fuse. Okay maybe a little. My parents are headed to Germany on Sunday (I was supposed to go but am so broke I can't afford to pay attention). So my brothers and I will be farm sitting. Meh, no big deal. But my lovely pappy is a world class worry wart, and has been making me nutty,more so than usual.
Lets face it, I'm not exactly the poster child for normal behavior. I love listening to my mom up date the rest of the family on what the five of us are doing with our lives... Joe is pregnant, Erna is in Australia, Gord is back from Grande Prairie, Jake is thinking about buying a second property, and Lisa is (doing what ever stupid thing I happen to be doing at the time). The best part is this is always followed by "yah well Lisa does stuff like that". You know Auntie whoever has asked one of three questions... "she's doing what?" "why would she do that?" or "are you serious?" Guaranteed I'm voted most likely to get the Darwin Award in our family. When you have 30 first cousins, that's an accomplishment.
But I digress, back to my dad. We got our first calf of the season on sunday night (it's so cute), and with the weather showing no sign of smartening up anytime soon, Dad is in full maternal mode. The man is going to give himself an ulcer. I understand where he is coming from, he truly cares and wants to make sure that they are taken care of. He comes across as a growly old bear, but he's really quite sensitive. Not that he would EVER admit it. So he worries about his cows, and his lil calves, and the spoiled dog.
I have yet to get him to admit he spoils the dog, though I have managed to get him to stop feeding her Fignewtons. I think, maybe he's sneaking them to her when I'm not around, hmmmmm. I've given up trying to stop him from feeding her cheese smokies. The fact that she has "dog food" to eat doesn't seem to compute for him. (and he wonders why I call her "mooch") "She's not spoiled, she's a good dog" "She's not fat, she's in good shape"... yah round.
Anyway, that's it. I really have nothing to say, so until next week, Blue Skys.
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